


Mistress Widow

by Ebyru



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, BDSM Scene, Dominatrix, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Het and Slash, M/M, Military Backstory, Public Display of Affection, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:46:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4125936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebyru/pseuds/Ebyru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha is one of the most famous Doms at the Avengers underground club. Too bad her boyfriend Clint doesn’t know about what she does for a living yet. Eventually, she’ll find the courage to tell him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistress Widow

**Author's Note:**

> 1) thank you to [only_because3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/only_because3) for the quick beta  
> 2) thank you to my artist, [nessataleweaver](http://nessataleweaver.livejournal.com/), for her work and pushing me to not give up during our [Heroine Bang 2015](http://heroinebigbang.livejournal.com/) challenge.  
> 3) I've never written professional BDSM before, but I tried to keep safety and consent in mind. I hope this doesn't offend anyone, but if it does, please let me know what I should do to fix it.  
> (Also, this was written as a counter to the horrible shite that is 50 Shades of Grey since it's not about BDSM but abuse in reality.)
> 
> p.s. I apologize if any of it feels rushed; I wasn't in the best shape while writing it. ^_^;;

 

Clint is the sweetest when he’s asleep; Natasha likes to stroke her fingers down his jaw. He snores with his mouth wide open. He’s swallowed flies before but Natasha hasn’t told him. It’s not like he’d really care anyway. Clint is a simple guy, likes simple things, and accepts Natasha and all her complications because she’s a challenge – or that’s how Natasha sees it. Why else would he never ask where she goes after supper until three in the morning? Most people would assume she’s a prostitute – not that there is anything wrong with that – but she isn’t one.

Natasha kisses him on the forehead, and tucks his blanket back up when he shivers. She leaves him to his nap. He was so tired from work at the bakery today that he fell asleep as soon as he ate supper. At least they got to eat together before Natasha had to leave for work.

 

\---

 

“Hey, Nat!” calls Steve from his office. He rushes out, greeting her in the doorway of the club. It used to be just a simple sign that he drew himself – as an art major – but now it’s actually lit up with red, neon letters. She always feels like a superhero seeing “Avengers” glow from down the block, and then stepping inside this smoky world of secrets and leather.

“Steve. How are you, big guy?” She kisses him on both cheeks. Bucky saunters out from Steve’s office, making his way slowly down the stairs to greet her too. His lips are moist; they’ve probably been making out again. That explains why Steve came running to greet her, like a guilty puppy trying to suck up. Bucky promised they wouldn’t do that in front of the clients anymore. It gives them ideas about what the Doms are willing to do. Things Natasha would never do with them.

“So whenever you’re ready, Thor and Loki are waiting for you.” Steve leans in, speaking lower. “I know that Loki’s appointment is supposed to be first, but Thor was waiting two hours outside. I feel bad for the guy.”

Natasha laughs, shaking her head. “It’s his fault. You know my policy. If you come before opening hours, it’s not my business how long you wait. I don’t shift appointments around. I take people when they’re meant to be seen.” She glances at Bucky who tries to wipe the corner of his mouth surreptitiously; it’s still glistening with something clear.

Steve puts up his hands, placating. “All right. It’s your call as always. You’re in charge.”

“Thank you,” she says with a grin. “Now, I’ll go change, so can you tell Loki to meet me in my usual room?”

“No problem.” Steve waves as she strides inside the club, smiling at the usual clients as she goes. As she looks back, Bucky presses his hand against Steve’s hip, his lips already attached to his neck again. If Natasha didn’t know better, she’d think they just started dating a month ago; it’s been eight years. Eight years of them making goo-goo eyes at each other and greeting her with puffy lips.

The rest of the club is dark and musky to give an aura of debauchery. But the changing area is brightly-lit and filled with whips, chains, handcuffs, ropes – whatever a client may need. Natasha’s section has her Pro-Dom name in burgundy above her door: Mistress Widow. Every time she reads it, she wonders what Clint would think if he knew about this part of her life. Next to her room, there’s Maria who has the night off today. Beside Maria’s room, there was Sharon - who quit after she found out she was pregnant. It’s just a vacant space now. Not many Doms apply for the job.

Because the clientele is mostly male, people assume Steve’s club only hires women. It doesn’t. Bucky used to be the best sub Natasha had ever seen in action, but he stopped when his relationship with Steve got more serious; they just didn’t want to share each other that way. Not that there was ever sex involved.

Natasha’s stockings have faded skulls because Loki likes them. She has a black tutu with six-inch black heels and a red bra peeking out of her dark, lace-trimmed corset. Each item is custom made, custom-fit. Natasha’s figure isn’t a usual shape; it’s hard to shop with her proportions sometimes, especially since she’s not very tall. It’s also why her clients like her. Affectionately, Steve introduces her as his Marilyn Monroe of Doms.

Once she’s dressed, smoky-eye and red lipstick applied, she takes out her red furry cuffs and the ball gag to muzzle Loki with later. Her newest purchase is hidden in a brown paper bag. She’ll gauge his reaction and if he likes it, she’ll use it. Otherwise, she’ll ask another client if they like it instead. It doesn’t matter that she chose it specifically for him.

 

\---

 

No one can see her once she steps out of the changing room; the halls are purposely dark allowing for anonymity. Usually they give her a fake name like “Tom” or “Chuck.” Then there’s the two here today. Thor and Loki are either related or know each other because none of her other clients use Norse god names. With the way they look though, nothing else would suit them.

The smoke being blown throughout the club is like a fog, a screen for Natasha to use to get in character. It tingles her skin. She closes her eyes, picturing Clint and his band-aid across his nose from walking into a wall yesterday. He is who she goes home to. He’s who she gives her body to. These clients, these gentlemen are kind and funny and attractive, but they aren’t him. They can never be him. She breathes out, smiling.

Each client waits in the main lounge, music booming through speakers in the ceiling. It’s usually lesser-known artists, but today it’s Deftones.

 

_I watched you change_

_And you—_

_It’s like you never_

_had wings_

Often, the people waiting are comfortable regulars, subs mostly. People tend to choose to be dominated because of the freeing effect of not having to think or be in control for once. It’s cathartic, peaceful, relaxing even. The Dom does all the work - after the boundaries are set of course – and the sub just listens and obeys. In Natasha’s personal life, she likes when Clint takes over. It allows for a change of scenery; gives her a chance to step out of her occupation. That way, she can always separate her profession from her life.

Natasha sees Loki chatting with Thor, both of them smiling with their knees turned toward each other. They have a booth with red velvet on the seats; Loki’s hands stretch out along the backrest, drumming softly. He chuckles at something Thor says, and then glances around. He catches Natasha’s eye and freezes instantly. His body language turns rigid. He smiles, hopeful. She tips her head. _Why are you out here? I told you to wait for me in the room._

Loki clears his throat, touches Thor’s shoulder, and slinks away to where the sessions are held privately. Natasha’s room number for Loki is always six – the biggest and warmest of the rooms. He likes to strip down to barely any clothing during his sessions.

\---

 

Natasha has her back to the door, removing the items she brought for Loki one at a time and placing them on a long, wooden table. Each one has its spot. Each one is visible and a question. Though she may be the Dom, she isn’t in charge; he decides what he needs from her tonight. The new item, the smooth wood paddle is at the end of the table.

The door creaks open. “Loki,” she says, not turning around. She fingers the paddle’s thicker end.

“I apologize, Mistress,” he says immediately back. “If it pleases you, I would let you use that on me as punishment.”

“This?” she asks coyly, holding up the paddle. “I don’t know if you deserve this.” She strokes along the handle. “I went through all the trouble of getting your name engraved in it and you weren’t even here ready for me.”

Loki swallows, ducking his head. “I brought you a drink.”

Natasha knows she’s not supposed to take drinks from the clients, especially if she didn’t see what happened between the bartender pouring it and it being brought to her. but this is Loki. Unlike what people think of him outside of the Avengers club, he is a nice man. Thor is the proof of that. She trusts him. Besides, Steve wouldn’t let him bring the drink to the session if he didn’t trust him too.

She walks over, taking it from his hands. He holds the glass with both hands and drops to his knees as she sips. She only told him once that she liked blue lagoon. He remembered. She smiles in spite of herself, handing the paddle to Loki. “While I drink, I want you to get accustomed to this. Tell me how it feels and how hard you need me to go.” She sips again, watching as Loki turns the paddle around, left and right, stroking his thumb along the edges. He traces the letters of his nickname.

“You really bought this for me?” he asks. He doesn’t look up, knows better to when they’re in a session.

“I don’t know anyone else named Loki,” she says with a laugh. “Do you like it?” She drinks more from the glass, swishing it around. Part of the fun of this drink isn’t just the sweet taste, but the colour – a vibrant turquoise.

Loki nods fervently. “Yes, Mistress.”

She puts her glass down on the wood table next to the furry cuffs, picking those up instead. “Take off your clothing then. Don’t make me wait.”

Loki crawls over to the dark, thick carpet and starts stripping methodically. He knows how much Natasha hates seeing clothes thrown around. He folds each article, never glancing up to see if she approves. He knows she approves. They’ve done this dozens of times.

“When you’re done, get on all fours and wait in position until I’m done drinking your gift.”

Loki nods. “Yes, Mistress.”

 

*

 

Clint is asleep again when Natasha returns – in their bed this time. She moved in with him about six months ago and hasn’t regretted it yet. He may snore like a wild animal and hurt himself on a constant basis, but he’s an amazing person. And he smells like flowers every time he showers; lavenders and lilac to help Natasha fall asleep next to him. Just right.

 

 

*

 

Natasha finds Steve’s boxer shirts in her dressing room; Bucky would do something like that. Steve isn’t dumb enough to put his own initials inside as evidence.

\---

It’s morning on a cloudy day. Clint has a long, early shift on Fridays. He pecks Natasha on the forehead, and leaves her breakfast that will still taste good later when she reheats it: bacon and waffles, homemade. She eats them like a woman starved for affection. She kind of is; their schedules have been clashing lately, not leaving much time for intimacy.

At night, they eat popcorn and watch a black and white film with subtitles. Clint laughs so loud at L’Âge d’Or that the neighbour next door bangs with a fist on the wall. Natasha waves a hand, smiling as if unfazed.

When Clint passes out from his long day, she tucks him in and goes over there. Luckily her job requires her to own a lot of different costumes, so she has a black mask to slip on as she climbs through the neighbour’s window. If her raspy voice doesn’t drive the point home, then the bat sure must.

On her way to work, Natasha stops in a public restroom, throws the mask into the trash and slips on her trench-coat instead. Each step is painful. With each one, she’s further and further from the man she wants to be with, and closer to men who pay to have her attention. It makes her lonelier (and hornier) than ever.

 

\---

 

Bucky pinches Natasha’s elbow from a dark corner as soon as she swings the club door open. “Not cool,” he tells her. “Neighbours don’t threaten each other. That’s what friends like me and Steve are for.”

Natasha opens her mouth to ask how he found out, but, really, she should know better. This isn’t the first time he’s said very stalkery-things. Last time, she found Bucky hanging out with Clint at the bakery where he works. If Bucky wasn’t head over heels for Steve, she might worry. Might. Clint is a military-trained sniper – who stopped because of PTSD – and she has two black belts that help tame the more “impolite” clients. The ones that get kicked to the curb when she’s done.

“I just wanted some fun with Clint. That jerk next door disturbed us for no reason.” Natasha crosses her arms, frowning with her eyebrows.

Bucky sighs, stepping out from the shadows. “Don’t worry, Nat, I didn’t tell Steve.”

Natasha points a stern finger at him.

“Or Clint,” Bucky adds with an eye-roll. “Just make sure you only scare people who ask you to do it on the job.”

“Fine, all right.” She strolls off, waving at Steve when he steps out of his office with his belt buckle undone.

“And that’s completely fine, right?” groans Natasha, gesturing at the Steve’s belt. Bucky shrugs, so she glares.

 

\---

 

“Tony. Stark,” he says, giving Natasha a seductive leer. Natasha blinks, feeling off-put but also amused by his disbelief. And frankly, why would Steve let a greasy guy like this come into her dressing room unattended? Someone could get hurt.

“Uh-huh. And?” She sits at her dressing room mirror, reapplying the red lipstick that Thor likes so much. He has expensive tastes – which she is now part of as his Dom. It also helps that he said it mesmerizes his heart. He’s adorable.

“I’m THE Tony Stark!”

“Yes, you said that. That doesn’t really matter here. All my clients get the same treatment. Most of them don’t even give me their real names – that’s Steve’s side. So I don’t really care whether you’re on welfare or a CEO.”

Tony raises a brow. “You don’t even know what I’m offering. I’m Tony Stark—”

“And you’d like to give me more money than Steve does so you can whisk me away to your more posh club, right?” She smacks her lips together to make the red spread evenly across her mouth. She looks at Tony from the reflection. “You’re not the first to try.”

Tony leans a hip on her door, moving his hand side to side. “Well…yes. I was – _kinda_. But I asked Steve, and he said to make sure you were ok with it first.”

Natasha snaps her eyeliner pencil in half with one hand. “He _what_? Excuse me.”

He raises his arms, as if to demonstrate his innocence, and Natasha shoves him down onto her chair irritably. “Stay put,” she grits.

Tony swallows, nodding. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

\---

 

“What’s this about you wanting to sell me to some sleazy CEO?” Natasha says as she kicks the office door open.

Bucky has Steve pinned across the desk, papers strewn over the floor, and their mouths locked in a messy kiss. With the door banging open, they both pull away, turning to her like deer-in-headlights. Steve sits up too fast for how slowly Bucky is climbing off of him and they end up knocking foreheads. “Ow, fuck, Steve! Seriously?”

“Sorry, Buck,” he whispers. Steve straightens the buttons of his shirt; his fly is still down though. Natasha doesn’t feel forgiving enough to let him know. It’s his own fault. “What was that, Nat?”

“I said: are you shipping me to work for Tony Stark?” She narrows her eyes, arms on her hips.

Steve sits on the edge of his desk while Bucky busies himself by picking up the paperwork. “I – uh – I told him to ask you. I figured you’d like some new scenery. Maybe?”

Natasha throws her hands in the air. “Yeah, because I don’t like the people I take care of here. Jesus, Steve. I thought you knew me after a decade. I thought we were close.”

“We are!” protests Steve. He clears his throat, standing. “I thought maybe it’d be good for you. You’d have some extra money. You could take a break and spend some time with Clint. Like a vacation, you know?”

“And you could sneak around with Bucky without being caught.” Steve smiles nervously, and she sighs. “What exactly is he offering?” asks Natasha. “I get paid well here. I have no complaints.”

Steve glances at Bucky. Bucky shakes his head and mouths _don’t tell her_. Steve frowns.

Natasha huffs. “Will you two stop being children? I’m not going to leave—”

“Ten thousand per hour,” says Steve.

_Air_. Natasha needs air and fast. That’s five times what she usually makes in an entire _night_. A good night, a fully-booked one. And only because Thor and Loki like to compete with their tip amounts. She grabs the door-frame to keep herself from falling. “Wow, I mean…. _wow_.”

“Yeah.” Steve shrugs a shoulder. “I think it’s a good opportunity for you. It’s only a few hours per week. You could still work here.”

“If she wants,” grumbles Bucky. He gathers all the papers in a pile and puts them next to Steve on the desk. “If I were her, I wouldn’t come back.”

“Shh, Buck.” Steve taps him on the arm with the back of his hand. “There’s one thing though, Nat.”

Natasha looks up at the ceiling. “I knew it was too good.” She gets closer to Steve so they can be eye-to-eye. Almost. He’s a tall guy. “Ok, what is it?”

“The sessions are sometimes filmed or with multiple participants. Tony has a thing for his fiancée watching him while he’s being dominated.”

“Filmed? You mean it’ll be online or on TV? I can’t do that. What if Clint saw?” She walks around Steve’s desk and drops into his seat. She sits back, feet on his desk. “Unless it won’t be anywhere but in his secure files because you already knew I’d say that.”

“Exactly,” says Steve with a sympathetic smile. Then, he winces. Bucky laughs under his breath, turning his face away to hide it.

“What am I sitting in this time?” asks Natasha with a long-suffering sigh. It’s a bad habit of hers to just plop down into chairs. There’s often a surprise waiting for her: gum, soda, beer, melted chocolate—

“Jizz,” says Bucky with a choked-off laugh, clinging to Steve’s waist from behind him.

“Bucky!” chides Steve. He smacks Bucky’s hands when he makes lewd jerking motions.

Natasha lifts herself slightly, glancing beneath her clothes, and yes, it is male ejaculate. Fantastic. Just what she needed on her black, silk dress. She leans forward, knocking her forehead against the desk. “How will I explain this to my dry cleaner? She already gives me strange looks when I bring my outfits in.”

Steve stares at Natasha for a while, her staring back. “Are you just going to keep sitting in it?” he asks.

Natasha nods. “What’s the difference now? I’m already completely on it.”

“You might be stuck and not able to pry your beautiful dress off when it dries,” Bucky says with the widest smirk Natasha’s ever seen. He waltzes out of the office, blowing them both a kiss.

Just because of that, she knows it’s probably his. And that she needs a few hours away from their gay antics.

 

*

 

There’s a contract waiting for Natasha on Tony’s glass desk when she gets to his office. She dressed as formally as she could, in a pinstripe skirt and jacket, so as to not give him any funny ideas. She’s a professional first and foremost. Likewise, Tony is in a dark suit with Pepper standing over his shoulder in a beige pant-suit, her red hair up in a stylish bun.

“Take as much time as you need to read it,” says Tony. “I’ve had Pepper iron out anything that sounded vague or could cause issues.” He sits back, smiling.

Natasha nods, giving him a brief smile back.

Pepper clears her throat, nudging Tony. “And?” she urges in a whisper.

“Oh, yeah. If you’d like to go through it with Steve to make sure there’s no conflict, you can come back tomorrow to finalize.” He smiles again. It’s stiff and very much unlike the snake charmer who greeted her in her dressing room. Maybe Pepper is good for him; she obviously keeps him in line.

 

Employer: Tony Stark  
Employee: Natasha Romanov  
Contract duration: 3 months (renewable)  
Hours: 7pm to midnight on Fridays with a possibility of increasing if agreed upon by both parties  
In case of an emergency, Steve Rogers is to be contacted first, followed by Clint Barton – only if absolutely necessary.  
During each session, the dominant performer, hereafter called Mistress Widow, will be entitled to deciding the type of bondage used as well as methods of dominance. In case of discomfort or injury, Tony Stark (or his invited parties) will use the safe-word _Jarvis_. Said parties will be only Tony Stark’s most trusted friends and colleagues, and will be forced to sign sworn statements to keep their involvement a secret. Filming may occur during these sessions, but only by Stark Industries’ equipment, and kept only on his secure and private database. None of the material will be made public or put onto a website, email or otherwise. No sexual advances or acts will be asked of or performed on Mistress Widow without absolute consent. If a failure to abide by this occurs, Mistress Widow will be entitled to pursue Stark Industries for defamation and receive an interim lump sum of up to 250,000$.

 

The rest is a list of what Tony enjoys, the facilities provided to Natasha while she’s working, and where the recording devices are found in the room. Considering how laid back Tony is, Natasha figures Pepper probably prepared this document all on her own. She seems like a decent, trustworthy lady (who also carries a big stick to hit people with). Natasha skims the rest and signs. She smiles at them, and this time neither of their expressions are tight and formal.

“Thank god,” says Tony. “I thought I’d have to find someone else. Loki told me so much about you that I thought I might cry if you didn’t accept me as a submissive.” He laughs, clearing his throat when Pepper raises a critical eyebrow. “What? I’m just being honest.”

“You said Loki told you?” asks Natasha. “I’ll make sure he pays for that.” She winks and stands up in one fluid movement. They shake hands and she goes back to her home away from home, the Avengers club.

 

 

*

 

“Loki.” She slides a riding crop against her left palm. “What have I told you about your mouth?” She’s seated on a backless stool, red and circular. The lighting is dark, the walls painted red. There’s a bed in the center, but Loki doesn’t really use it. He prefers to have the marks on his knees from crawling.

Loki doesn’t look up when he speaks. “That I speak too much.”

“Yes, that’s what I said.” She slaps her palm gently a few times with the riding crop. “And I heard from Tony Stark himself that you told him about our sessions. Our very private, safe, consensual sessions.”

Loki lowers his head when Natasha presses the crop to the back of his skull, his dark hair spilling over his shoulders. “Yes.”

She slaps him lightly on his bare shoulder. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mistress Widow,” he replies meekly. “Please don’t make me wear the cock ring again.”

Natasha stretches out a leg, her pointed toes prodding at Loki’s bare chest. “And why not? You’ve done exactly what you said you wouldn’t.”

“Please,” he begs, slowly lifting his head. She nudges him with her toe to scoot back so he can look into her eyes. “Anything but that.”

“ _Anything_?” she asks, tilting her head curiously. She leans forward, the crop tucked under her arm. “Get on the bed on all fours.”

“But—” he protests, his jade eyes widening.

“You said anything.” She smiles. In a softer tone, she adds, “If you don’t want that, I can bend you over this stool.”

“Yes, please, Mistress.” He ducks his head as she nods.

“All right, go ahead. I’ll get the paddle you liked last time.” Her heels click slowly over to the dresser. The top drawer contains lubricants, condoms, gloves and gags. She takes the burgundy one with the ball. In the second drawer, she finds her row of paddles, and settles on a medium sized one made of wood.

When she returns, Loki is bent over the red stool obediently, his hair hiding his face. She takes an elastic from her wrist and hands it to him. “I don’t want you to be hurt elsewhere than where I decide.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he agrees, putting his hair in a loose ponytail. He gets back into position quickly, his limbs too long for the short stool. But he chose this; he wants the extra ache. He’s such a good submissive.

“Lower your trousers to your knees. We’ll start with ten and see how you feel afterwards.”

Loki nods, undoing his buckle and opening his zip. His underwear follow his pants to the ground, his pale behind in stark contrast to his black hair and suit. “I’m ready, Mistresss.”

“Count out loud for me.”

She gently rubs each of his ass cheeks with the paddle, her hand soothing on his back. Her arm goes back, and the first hit lands on his left cheek. He moans out, “One.” Shivers are already wracking his body; goosebumps form on his reddening flesh. It’s just a light pink, but Natasha plans to get it brighter, redder. She lands a hit on the same spot. “Two,” he groans softly. She rubs with the paddle, then smacks his right cheek, harder than she has so far. “Three,” he squeaks, starting to breath hard.

“Would you like me to go harder? Or should I drag this out because you’ve been such a disobedient sub?” she asks in his ear, whispering in a deep growl.

“Harder,” he urges breathlessly.

She smacks the paddle down with a dull sound for his rudeness. “What?”

“I said harder. _Please_ , Mistress.” He shivers full body as she strokes the paddle across both cheeks.

“Loki, you bad boy. You didn’t count that one. Guess we have to start over,” she says in a tease. He nods fervently. “Here we go again.” She smacks twice this time, one for each cheek.

He pants out, “One, t-t—” the words shifting into a moan.

“Honey, you missed that one. Back to zero.” Her fingers splay against his reddening ass. “Make sure to keep count or we’ll be doing this all night, and you won’t be able to come back tomorrow.”

“Please,” he begs. “I can be good. I need to come back tomorrow.”

Natasha stalks around his folded form, kneels down so they’re eye-to-eye. “Prove it,” she says flatly.

 

\---

 

They both knew “all night” wouldn’t happen; Thor was next to see Natasha. In a different room, of course. He and Loki refuse to do anything the same. They often race to see who can get the slot ahead of the other. Sadly, Thor is a college friend of Steve’s, so he’s given preference sometimes.

Thor likes his hair pulled - a lot. He likes Natasha to hurt him with her body, her hands. He wants her to use her learned skills as martial artist on him. Loki is more into prop use and long-lasting domination scenes. Thor likes instant gratification that comes as quickly as it leaves.

The bed in the blue room, Thor uses. It’s a king sized bed with a solid headboard for when he wants to be tied or handcuffed to it. He’s a big man, with a strong upper body. He’s broken a few, and Steve’s been stuck replacing it. So, now, Steve and Bucky test out the equipment with their strength beforehand, just to make sure no injuries will happen. (Natasha knows it’s also fun for them to practice on each other.)

Natasha presses Thor’s face into the blue silk sheets, his hands trapped behind his back because of her knee against his wrists. He could easily break free, but that’s not the point of having a Dom. That’s not why he pays her to do this. His fingers wiggle as he begins to lose feeling in them. She eases back slightly, getting a good grip on his blond hair as he turns his face to the side. He breathes in and out deeply, his eyes tight.

“Tell me what you want,” she says, tugging once on his hair. He groans, his eyes screwed tighter. “Tell me, Thor. One day, I’ll bring scissors and chop off your hair otherwise.” Idle threats; that would be a breach of their safe and consensual environment and he knows it. It doesn’t stop his hips from thrusting against the bed.

“Harder, Mistress Widow.” He breathes, slowly reopening his blue eyes. “Please. I beg of you.”

“That’s better,” she says. As a reward, she twists her hand in his hair, and tugs until he’s crying out in pleasure more than pain, his chest coming off the bed.

He pants, his chest heaving. She doesn’t relent until he growls like a feral beast. Then she slowly untangles her hand and steps off of him. He knows, from past experiences, that it’s time for him to turn over. He lifts his shirt over his hand and folds it neatly. Just like she always asks him to.

“Very good,” she says. “Very, very good.” She strokes his hair away from his eyes.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

Natasha touches his shoulder as he lies down on his back. “I think you deserve it.”

“You mean _that_?” he asks, his eyes shining with excitement. “I thought you didn’t like it.”

She hums. “I don’t, not really. But you have asked so nicely in the past. And you’ve been a very good sub today. I’ll make an exception.”

Thor grips the headboard, sucking in his stomach to tighten his abdomen. Taking in a few breaths, he nods when he’s ready to begin. Natasha carefully positions herself over his thighs, not touching or coming near his growing erection.

“Try to concentrate on keeping your muscles tight,” she says, curling a fist. She presses it just above his navel, then reels back and punches. As expected, it knocks some of the air out of Thor, but he successfully blocked most the impact with his strength.

“Again?”

Thor quietly replies, “Please.” He breathes out harshly, sucking in to keep his stomach firm.

She punches again with precision, avoiding the more sensitive areas, the ones that could cause permanent damage at this close of a distance. He wants a challenge, not a broken rib. “Once more,” she warns. Punching with double the force, knowing he trains just for this. She constantly finds marks on his skin from planks broken across his torso. He must pay his bodyguard to smash the wood as hard as he can.

Thor’s mouth falls open, his breathing ragged. For a moment, Natasha worries she punched too hard or in the wrong spot, but then she sees his bulge twitch and realizes how much he’s enjoying it. She scoots back a bit not to make contact with his erection.

“Last time,” she says.

Thor begins to protest, “But—”

“Then we can move on to slapping,” she finishes, lining up her fist against his abdomen.

“Yes, Mistress. The face this time?” he asks with a hopeful lilt.

Natasha sighs, grinning. “I suppose if you want to ruin your pretty face that’s up to you.”

“I have done worse in my youth,” laughs Thor.

 

*

 

Tony’s list of kinks is exhaustive: whipping, bondage, spanking, baby play, gagging, slave play, etc. He more or less included just about anything that wouldn’t make him bleed or kill him. He made a separate list for the sessions that Pepper sits in on - when she isn’t busy running Tony’s company for him that is. Hers is more vanilla, tame. She likes Tony to be punished, smacked and tied up, but Tony wants to experience things like sounding, and Pepper can’t handle that. At least not yet.  


During one session, with Tony hanging upside down (briefly), Pepper walks by the glass window Tony set up for her and gasps. For anyone who isn't used to watching people's blood rush to their head, the red engulfing Tony's face would be shocking. Natasha rushes out to explain to Pepper that it had only been a couple minutes, and it's simply Tony's light pigment that makes it seem worse than it is. Tony even waves at Pepper to convince her he's fine.

It’s clear that they’re both new to this thing. It seems to be a trend now, getting into the BDSM scene. It’s almost mainstream. Not that Natasha has any complaints when it brings in high profile clients like Tony Stark.

 

\---

 

Natasha is exhausted from trying to keep a group of ten entertained for five hours. She mindlessly brings her bag of supplies home instead of dropping them off at Steve’s club like she usually does. As soon as she gets home, she collapses next to Clint, her lipstick still on, smudging against her favourite powder blue pillowcase. Clint groans, always, when she plops into bed, but he immediately cuddles in next to her afterward. They snore in unison with her head against his shoulder and his arm around her.

 

\---

 

As usual, Clint has to get up first, so he decides to clean up a bit and make some delicious breakfast. All that normal, domestic, couple-related stuff that Natasha seems to enjoy. It offers them a chance of normalcy that they didn’t have previously.

While cleaning up, Clint comes across Natasha’s bag. A bag he’s never seen before with skulls and arrows on it. He makes a note to tell her how nice it is later on. When he picks it up to put it away, it turns out to be filled with chains, handcuffs and whips that cause a ruckus. He puts it back down in its spot quietly, then rushes to the kitchen for his next task. He leaves her chocolate chip pancakes.

 

\---

 

Natasha sleeps through most of the day. When she finally yawns awake, Clint is obviously gone, her breakfast is cold, and her bag that she never meant to bring is waiting at the foot of the bed. It’s open. Clint has never gone through her things. He wouldn’t open it, but he isn’t blind either. She groans as realization hits her, banging her forehead with a fist. “Stupid, stupid. I should just tell him.”

She has more than enough time to walk to his work, drop in for a kiss and a talk. Tell him everything. Get it off her chest for once and for all. She doesn’t; she’s afraid. She’s never been so frightened in her life. Clint leads a normal life now, away from danger and authority – everything she offers her clients. He might think she wants to try on him, or worse, that she’s cheating on him. She can’t think about that. There’s work to do soon.

 

\---

 

Saturdays, she has Bruce to focus on. He’s a sweet man with dark eyes and hair - a friend from her past life when all she sought was survival. He’s not very big, but he’s strong; he’s lifted Thor easily over his head. Natasha likes that he wouldn’t swat a fly, though. A humble kind of power. The kind that got her and Clint through PTSD when they didn't know how to forget the violence. Once Bruce found out about her new profession, he offered himself as a first client. His passion is ropes and knots. The more tied down, securely roped into position he is, the calmer he gets. The calmer he becomes, the more relaxed Natasha feels as well. He’s made her yawn just from his laid-back acceptance of his binding. They talk while he’s tied up in the gold room. But, as a rule, never about anything personal when he's spending money.

Today, she ties him with his wrists behind his back, his legs folded inward, foetal. The last piece is a dark blindfold across his eyes to calm his senses. It helps him experience the pressure more without having his mind running and his eyes darting from spot to spot. This room, the gold one, is the only one with music – classical, opera.

Natasha sits in a couch she drags from the entrance all the way to him. Intently, she watches for signs of discomfort or distress. Panic. Anxiety. It’s happened before. He dangles from the ceiling, two hooks attached to the ropes to hold him there. He’s on his back, in the air, floating, levitating. It’s almost like watching a human painting from where Natasha is seated.

If she left, Bruce would have no choice but to wait until she came back and let him down. The mechanism requires the push of a button that’s near the light switch. The ropes are another story. The helpless nature is perhaps what Bruce likes the most. His fingers twitch, swishing through the air.

“Mistress Widow?” he asks with a voice rough from disuse.                                                      

“Hm? I’m here, Bruce.” She files a nail she broke while tying his knots. It could hurt someone else later if she doesn’t deal with it now.

“You sound…sad.” He shifts as much as he can, facing towards her, listening.

Natasha sighs. It figures a man as gentle as him would also be able to sense mood changes. “It’s nothing to do with you. Don’t worry. Just enjoy this calm.”

Silence passes for a beat. “Is it Clint?” he mutters. “Sorry. I know we’re not supposed to discuss personal issues during a session.”

“That’s right. This isn’t about me. This is about you. You're paying for this time.” She puts her file away in a pocket she stitched onto her black corset, right below her breast which spill out from the top. She looks down at herself and sees for the first time how ridiculous this would be to anyone else. Anyone working at their own bakery.  
"I'm still your friend," says Bruce. "Just because I'm a client at the moment doesn't mean we can't still be friendly. I've known you for a long time. You aren't yourself." He waits with an assertive kind of quiet.  
  
Natasha clears her throat, hands twisting together. "I think he knows about my work."

“You never told him?” Bruce wiggles his big toe, then moves the rest of himself towards her voice. Though he’s naked, he doesn’t seem it because of the ropes wrapped around most of his body, and the way he’s folded in to keep his _modesty_.

“I meant to…and then I worried it was too soon,” she admits. “And then I never did.” She crosses her legs, swallowing the guilt down like bile.

“Haven’t you been together for a couple years?” he asks. “Anyway, if your partner doesn’t support your career choice, then he doesn’t deserve you.” He smiles when Natasha chuckles. “Besides, from what you’ve told me, I’d say he’s an understanding guy.”

“He is,” she says. “I know he is.” She can’t think of a time when he’s made her feel unloved or uncertain about their relationship. Although she was meant to be his pillar through his PTSD, he managed to pull her out of her shell at the same time – which is why she ended up in Steve’s club, seeking a way to let off steam without having to risk her life. “I just…”

“I may not be the kind of doctor to give advice, but feel free to talk about this any time. I’ll always lend an ear.” He wiggles his toes again; Natasha wonders if it’s punctuation or a nervous tick.

Natasha stands, walking over to Bruce. She touches the only part that she can reach now that the mechanism has him held so high, hovering over her. She holds his hand; both of his squeeze hers despite the ropes around his wrists. “Thank you, Bruce.”

“No, it’s my pleasure. You’ve really helped me overcome my worst moments these past few months.” He laughs. “It’s odd to think a doctor needs to be tied up once in a while, but I guess I do.”

 

*

 

There’s a fantastical place that exists, somewhere between Oz and Wonderland. That’s the place where Natasha and Clint live. Five blocks from the Avengers club in one direction, and five blocks from Clint’s co-owned bakery – Sweet Tweets – in the other direction. Never has Natasha taken the time to consider how lucky she is now.

Once upon a time, she worked tedious hours, broke multiple bones, and barely made enough money to be financially comfortable. Then, a most remarkable man stepped into the office of her part-time job, asking if she knew of a place to stay. She knew him vaguely as one of the students in her advanced aikido class. He’d suffered a lot of injuries and wanted to get his body close to the shape it was before. His mind was something else. She only learned that much later. The dojo belonged to Maria Hill; Natasha couldn’t offer Clint lodging there. She did, however, need help paying her rent. She gave him her living room instead. He never left.

A man like that, Natasha thinks, pulling out a navy blue umbrella, isn’t one people find every day. He was so vulnerable, but so kind and honest. Natasha knew she was in trouble the first time she watched him help an old lady with her groceries. She knew she wouldn’t want to let go. Lucky for her, he was okay with that. He was on board from day one. She supported him through his nightmares, his weekly meetings with Sam Wilson to cope. He supported her when she decided to give up teaching and became Steve’s first dominatrix at the Avengers club, except he didn’t know. He just knew she worked for Steve, late at night, discreetly.

All the way home, she replays their first meeting, their first kiss, the first time he slept in her bed. They used to fight so much back when they were just roommates until it became obvious why they were so tense – they wanted each other and neither of them knew how to admit it without sounding like a pervert. He didn’t leave when she was so angry one night she almost broke his arm, so why would he leave because of this? He couldn’t.

 

\---

 

Natasha holds her breath as she unlocks the door. Every room is dark – except the kitchen. She didn’t leave a light on, and it’s too late for Clint to still be up. Her first instinct is to crouch down, remove her heels, and slither across the floor to take the burglar by surprise.

The floor barely creaks when she makes it to the kitchen, but she’s found out. “Hey, Nat,” says Clint. He’s eating a bowl of cereal, the loops dipped in honey. The light she saw is coming from his laptop screen, giving his features an ominous appearance.

“Clint. Hey. Why aren’t you sleeping?” Natasha stands, slowly brushing off her stockings. She clears her throat.

“I have a day off tomorrow. It’s Sunday.” He doesn’t comment about her being on the ground, which he has in the past when she got startled. Small blessings. “I didn’t feel like sleeping until I got something off my chest.” His eyes are so serious.

Natasha turns the kitchen light on. “Is everything okay?”

Clint pats the chair next to his, pulling it out. “Come sit with me.”

First, she drops her purse on the table, then she settles in. Submits. It’s good to change roles once in a while, lest she forget what her real life is. She folds her legs towards Clint; he reaches out for her hands, chuckling. “Everything’s fine, Nat.” He strokes her knuckles. “I can practically feel you vibrating out of your skin.”

She forces a laugh, recalling the vibrator Bruce wanted up against his perineum for the last of his time. He was still in knots, unable to relieve himself, and she wouldn’t help as it’s not part of her job, but she could do that. He came without any help. Most likely, she shouldn’t be thinking about that at a time like this.

“See? That’s what I’m saying. You’re like a different person. You can tell me anything.” Clint cups her cheek. “Hey, just tell me.”

Natasha squeezes her eyes so tightly black spots float in front of her vision. In increments, Clint’s face comes into view, one piece at a time. His smile is the gentlest it’s ever been; she suddenly has the urge to kiss him, knowing he might pull away after she tells him. She might not get a chance again.

“I’m…my job…” she breathes out shakily, her lashes wet. “Can’t we just go to bed and discuss this in the morning?”

Clint’s frown is deep, an ache that’s been pushed aside for days, weeks, months. He presses soft kisses to her knuckles, still holding her hands. “Don’t make me wait longer than I already have, Tasha.”

Tasha. He only uses that nickname when he feels vulnerable, upset. There’s begging from clients, and then there’s this man. A bullet broken into pieces so small it’s taken years for him to rediscover himself, forcing out mental scars from dead children, exploding bodies, beheadings—

Natasha is just being selfish. This isn’t fair to him. “My dominatrix name is—”

 

_\--Mistress Widow. My specialty is punishment play, which I’ve modified to incorporate jujitsu techniques. I’m also skilled at rope binding, roleplaying, and fetish scenes. Before you ask, no I will not perform any sexual acts on you. I’m in a very happy, monogamous relationship with the love of my life…_

It’s the Avengers club website. Natasha stares at her introduction video, dumbfounded that it’s been waiting on Clint’s laptop the whole time. He closes the lid gently. “You found my profile?” she murmurs.

“I always knew about it, Tasha.” He pulls her in against his chest until he can stroke her red hair. “I was fine with you not telling me about it. I was okay with you doing this. You seem to love it. But something’s changed. It seems to be taking a toll on you.” He kisses the top of her head, whispering. “What changed, Nat? Did a client threaten you? If they did I can—”

She sits back, shaking her head. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I was afraid if you found out you’d think I was cheating. That I was…”

“What?” Clint asks. “If you say ‘dirty,’ then you obviously haven’t seen the porn I keep on this bad boy.” He taps his laptop with a grin. “I’m serious. There’s nothing wrong with you being a dominatrix. I think it’s kind of hot actually.”

Natasha smiles. “You’re not upset?”

“Nat, you called me the love of your life in your video. I’m pretty sure I’m the luckiest guy this side of the world.” He caresses her chin, his fingers moving up to the swell of her red lips. “Is this the part where we kiss and make up?”

“Great idea,” hums Natasha, reaching forward for Clint’s mouth, his finger still resting at the corner of her lips. She whimpers when he bites gently, tugging on her flesh just the way he used to when they both had day schedules and a lot of free time together. The pit of her stomach burns with want, and she clambers into his lap, grinding to get her point across. “I have tomorrow off, too. Let’s make it count.”

“Best thing you’ve said in weeks,” he cheers, lifting her up and over his shoulder like a caveman. She roars with laughter, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt from the stretch of it.

**Author's Note:**

> comments always appreciated and very encouraging <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [For your pleasure...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4138851) by [TaleWeaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleWeaver/pseuds/TaleWeaver)




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